About 18 months ago, I called a taxi. I asked the driver to take me to the emergency room. When I arrived, I was astonished to find the waiting room empty. The nurse asked what could she do to help me. I heard myself say, " I'm trying to detox from alcohol. I need to see a doctor."
Way back when, I was sixteen. It seems like a hundred years ago, now. My friend's parents were out of town. I had my first drink - Jack Daniel's and Kool Ade Lemonade. I was "buzzed", they said. It felt good. Just one drink.
So how did I get to the point, a year and a half ago, where I was totally and completely a slave to alcohol? I couldn't wake up without it, work without it, sleep without it. Hell, who was I kidding? I wasn't sleeping. I was a knot of nerves. I was physically, emotionally and spiritually sick.
I knew that the life I was living was not normal. I knew that, if I didn't do something, I was going to continue to live a miserable, depressing life, without friends or family. I was, or at least I felt I was, hanging onto my job by a thread. I felt like everybody knew, and was talking about my pitiful existence behind my back.
I was too sick to go to work that day. I was within walking distance of the hospital. I had tried for two days to set my sights on that hospital. But within four blocks of my home, there were 4 places - one on each corner - where I could buy alcohol. And each time I set out to save myself, my addiction took me down the path of least resistance, and I ended up back at home.
Staring at the television. Drinking. Dreading whatever might come next. Because it couldn't be good.
But this day, the third day - "Third time's a charm," right? Well it was for me. Something, a voice, inside of me, said "Grace, honey, call a cab."
So before I could talk myself out of it, I called a cab. I like to call that little voice Divine Intervention. Whatever. It was probably the most important call I ever made.
Come back and visit me soon. I'd like to tell you a bit more of the story.
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